The clear web is where you say hi to your grandma, post pictures of your cat, and write embellished statements about your life so others will think everything in your sordid, ridiculous life is fine.
The dark web is where you go when you don’t give a shit about things on the clear web.
It’s the rabbit hole, only this hole branches into far more categories than the clear web. The clear web is a lake. The dark web is the ocean.
And monsters swim in the ocean.
I swim in the ocean.
My ocean swims with virtual private networks where I cast nets for the unsuspecting and the overly-eager. The popular dark web browser bundles everyone so they think they are hidden. It’s is like hiding behind a glass wall. If I can’t through it — I know how to break it.
Simpleton idiots show up intrigued by the access to kiddy porn, automatic weapons, new social security numbers or whatever their pathetic lives urge them to explore. I’m not just the deep web; I’m the deep, dark web.
I troll for the inept. Every day, hell – every hour, someone enters the darkweb without closing a Google Drive, or a cloud port, or some damned thing that lets me slide into their life like the longest, fastest slide on Chutes and Ladders.
Everyone thinks that the dark web is 100% anonymous. It should be. That’s the way it’s designed. But people are never 100% smart. All it takes is one exposed IP address and I’ve got you. I’ve got your passwords. I’ve got your PINs. And with passwords and PINs I have your bank accounts, I have your medical records, I have your emails, I have those OTHER emails too. I have your porn. I have your mistresses.
I send the simple email stating I need this or I want that or I require this large of a deposit. There’s a period of about an hour where they try everything to disconnect me. Too late. I’m already in. I can even flip on their remote cameras and tell them what they’re wearing, or not wearing. And I can actually tell them.
…just turn on their speaker.
I can send them their kid’s photos. I can send them those other photos of their own tits or their dic pics, the ones they sent to Angela17 or HotRodBoy. People are just too predictable. And that’s how I make my living. I never leave my house, I don’t have to. Money is wired into invisible accounts. Items are sent to temporary drop sites. Third parties are hired, anonymously, to manage my assets.
That’s the beauty of it. You’re screwed.
I could be your neighbor. I could be that strange woman at the bar. I could be…but I’m not.
I’m known as YourMenace.
You don’t want to meet me.
Anyway — that’s what I’m writing — what are you doing?